


The Haunting of Ryan O'Reily

by trillingstar



Series: Moment!Verse [3]
Category: Firefly, Oz (TV)
Genre: Community: spook_me, Crossover, Explicit Language, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Serenity (2005), Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 12:18:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16516358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: People who've got cause to haunt Ryan O'Reily.  It's a long fucking list.





	The Haunting of Ryan O'Reily

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [2018 Spook Me](https://spook-me.dreamwidth.org/14570.html) challenge. Fits into the Moment 'verse.  
> 

It's been a while since Ryan has gotten much sleep. There's no real distinction between night and day in this hunk of metal bouncing from planet to planet, but Mal keeps his crew on a schedule. Weirdly, it kinda ends up being a comfort; Ryan's used to someone else telling him where to go and when to eat, or when to hit the hay.

He gets out of bed a lot, usually to double check the locks, and sometimes to splash lukewarm water over his face, trying to soothe his grit-filled eyes. 

The door thing doesn't even make sense because the locks are on the inside, where he is, and not on the outside, where… Anyway, even though most of the people on board might want him whacked, they wouldn't do it _on_ board.

Ryan's fingertips are intimately familiar with the shape and grooves of the top-most lock. He likes the smoothness of the metal, and he likes hearing the reassuring weighty sound of the double bolts thunking into place. 

It's a real pain in the ass trying to get comfortable in the bunk in his room; the blanket's thin and barely covers him from neck to toes. Last week he'd filched an extra pillow from Inara's shuttle and that helped because he could sandwich his head between them. 

The mattress is no thinner than what he'd endured at Oz, but before Ryan'd moved in, they'd used his room for some kind of protein storage, and the odor seeped into the walls or some shit. It's a dry smell that tickles in the back of his throat if he breathes too deeply. Kinda like dried grain, which Ryan associates with crushed bones. Not that he's ever sniffed a fuckin' bone, but he does remember reading _Jack and the Beanstalk_ , and the part where the giant grinds up bones to make bread had always freaked him out. Could you really eat bones, and what would they taste like? 

Throwing back the blanket, Ryan hops up once more to check the locks. A quick test, just making sure, even if certainty is entirely missing in his life.

He's totally fine, a dinky little nobody floating around in outer space. Untrackable. Invisible. Not even on the same _planet_ as anyone he ever knew. Safe as spaceships.

Now he's just gotta get his brain to believe that, so he can get some shut-eye. 

Checking the locks a few times before bed is no big deal -- Shannon used to touch them twice, every time she walked past the front door. No sweat.

The-fucking-end.

\---

Ryan gets up so much because he's positive that he hears a knock at the door.

Getcher ass up, O'Reily! That's Jayne. He likes to hammer on the door and yell nonsense. He'll bang on it until Ryan opens up, and then fake apologize in some punk ass way. 

Often there's a loud pounding, fists or a steel-toed boot clanging against the metal, but without the posturing from Jayne. The first time, Ryan'd ripped open the door, half-clothed, his heart thumping hard. He'd expected an emergency -- a fire or an open airlock, maybe one of the crew dying or desperate. But there was only empty space, and the noise of the door hitting the wall echoed down the shadowed hallway. 

So he doesn't open the door to that knock any more. 

COUUNNNT! He drowses, dreams about Murphy's voice over the PA system, outside his pod, then right in his ear.

Other times it's a light tap, usually the Doc, or a regular, firm knock for Mal. Or a little scratch. Like something -- someone, obviously, there are no somethings in the guts of Kaylee's ship -- like someone outside wants in. No pattern, no voice identifying themselves, just a muffled scritching noise that makes Ryan break out in a clammy sweat. His heart pounds. He wants to pull the blanket up over his head but can't leave his feet bare, so he lies still like he's in the grave and counts his exhales.

\---

It's not Inara, Kaylee, or Zoe. They've never sought him out. It's not River either. He'd started to confront her about the infuckingdelicacies of engraving shit on someone else's door in the middle of the night, and she'd tilted her head at him and said, "It's the company we keep, don't you think?"

\---

The lack of sleep takes its toll. Sooner than he expects, Ryan feels like a zombie shambling the halls of Serenity. Reminds him too much of when he'd have to aim for the next hospital bed and hope he'd make it, slow as a snail, cold air up his crack 'cause he'd have to rest every other step. His appetite's fucked off, too, a perfect parallel to the chemo, lying there trying to suppress his gag reflex every time one of the orderlies dropped a tray on his table. How the hell they got something boiled _and_ burned… no wonder all his hair fell out and he dropped half his muscle.

Least he's not shitting the bed, or puking his guts out, or having to tell Gloria any of it.

Most of the crew's already off-ship when Ryan falls down the stairs on his way to the cargo bay, smashing up his shoulder and grating away most of the skin on his neck. Ryan's so stunned that he lets Jayne half-carry him into the infirmary, where the Doc runs tests, shines lights in his eyes, makes him spit into a paper cup, and keeps throwing glances at Jayne, who's leaning in the doorway.

Ryan closes his eyes. Cancer, back again, maybe. He doesn't feel sick. No lust for brains either. No lust for anything, really. Fuzzy around the edges, and empty inside.

Tripped, he mumbles. 

Jayne makes a rude snorting noise. Ryan doesn't need to open his eyes to know it's him.

Tripped over nothing, he says. Yanno. Not sleeping well. Not.

Sleeping? Tam prompts.

You looked like you seen a ghost, Jayne adds. Right before ya tumbled.

Ryan doesn't know what else to say. He opens his eyes. The light overhead glows green.

\---

Tam patches him up, and gives Ryan a sleeping pill.

In his room, Ryan spits the pill into the john. He's shaky is all. Can't count how many times his Pops said he could sleep when he was dead. 

Jayne's word floats around his head. Ghost.

People who've got cause to haunt Ryan O'Reily. It's a long fucking list.

\---

The scratching starts the second Ryan flips the lock, and this time he's ready to swear on a stack of Bibles that he hears Cyril's voice on the other side of the door.

"Ryan?"

Frozen with indecision, straining to hear, and knowing, in his heart, that Cyril can't possibly be there, yet some crazy idiotic hope takes root all the same.

"Ryan? What's… what's happening. Ryan?"

Pressing his forehead to the cool metal, Ryan counts. One breath. Two breaths. Don't hyperventilate. Three. Four. Five. I'm not here. He's not there.

He grips the doorframe hard with both hands to stop himself from throwing open the door and chasing after the sound of Cyril's long gait moving away, down the hallway and then gone.

Ryan's mouth feels bone dry. When he can finally swallow, he tastes strawberry milk.  


**Author's Note:**

> Challenge: Creature - Ghost(s) & [artwork by drawingnightmare](https://www.deviantart.com/drawingnightmare/art/Yuki-Onna-176478763) @dA
> 
>   
> 


End file.
